


Delicate Darkness

by LaLa13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU with Magic, Dystopia, F/M, Healer Hermione, Voldemort Wins, a play on what would've happened if Voldemort has succeeded the first time, dramione - Freeform, military Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-25 22:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLa13/pseuds/LaLa13
Summary: In a world where Voldemort had succeeded the first time, Hermione Granger’s parents did everything  in their capacity to stop her from succumbing to the same fate hundreds of Muggle-borns had to live through.Hermione had never planned to dishonor her parents sacrifices, but she couldn’t deny the fondness she felt for the pureblood general she worked for.A Dramione AU.





	1. Chapter 1

Morrissey’s voice swiftly flew into the room from the radio by her head. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be resting right then, she had a million things to do and little time to be finished with them, but she couldn’t help it, she needed a minute to clear her head or she wouldn't be able to work at all. Still, she laid there listening to her music and trying to ignore the open invitation envelope on her nightstand.

 _…see, the sea wants to take me_  
_the knife wants to slit me  
do you think you can help me?_

Hermione’s always loved that song. It reminded her of home and home cooked meals and her parents listening to The Smiths together when she was a kid. It was her mother’s favorite musical group and she and her dad would always listen to it together in the living room after a long day. This particular song was sad and Hermione’s never knew why she connected it most with home, her parents would often listen to happier ones filled with clever sarcasm accompanied with more upbeat melodies, or even more romantic ones, but this one’s always been her favorite; the melancholy of the melody and the softness of Morrissey’s voice were like a safety blanket that she could crawl underneath and hide for a while. The song didn’t cover anything, didn’t sugarcoat anything with an upbeat guitar or witty lyrics. It gave you the bitter truth straight.

The song’s final notes played and the radio was silent. Hermione got up and sighed before she turned the device off and returned it to its place underneath her bed. That small radio was one of her most precious possessions. It’s been the most precious thing she owned since the general had asked her what personal possessions she might want for her rooms when she moved to the manor to work there.

She looked at him in confusion then. She’s never heard of a pureblood general, no scratch that, she’s never heard of _any_ pureblood ever, asking one of the Muggle-born who worked for them what they desired to be present in their rooms. Fearing she might be disrespectful, she didn’t ask, she just told him she needed nothing more than what she’s already packed from her dorm. The general then smiled slightly (and Hermione would always remember his small smile then because she would later know how a rare sight it was) and told her she could ask for whatever she needed still. Her first thought then was the kinds of expensive equipment’s she always read about in books and would love to have for her clinic. The general told her the clinic was a separate matter and Hermione then blurted it that she needed a radio. Since then, it’s been possibly her most precious possession after her clinic.

“Hermione? You here?”

Hermione cleared her throat and called, “yeah,” to who must’ve been Blaise. She looked at her watch and frowned when she saw it was only ten in the morning. Blaise was never in the manor at such hour. She went to the door and opened it and sure enough, the dark haired wizard was there. He greeted her and asked if she could come down with him immediately. It turned out that the general had brought Hermione back a couple of wounded soldiers who needed care at once. Hermione apologized and told him she was taking a break to which Blaise only waved her off.

“You know I think you should be taking as many breaks as you need,” he went on as they made their way to the clinic together, “even General Malfoy knows how hard you work and if we were to keep our reputation of having the best Healer in all the zones then we need you to stay on your feet, don’t we?”

Hermione smiled to him. Blaise was a good man and wizard; he was only voicing his concern in that way because he was a military man who didn’t do well with feelings in general, let alone with the Muggle-born staff. If he wasn’t a good man he wouldn't have cared to ask about her wellbeing whenever he saw her, or even bothered to speak to someone who essentially worked for him. He even called her with her official title when she was working, Healer Granger, even if the room was filled with pureblood soldiers, which spoke volumes of his character if anything. Hermione suspected they’d be good friends if they spent more time together but he was the general’s captain and that made most his visits to her clinic work related most of the time. Their sort of friendly relationship didn’t start off so well in the beginning. At first, Captain Zabini hadn't even bothered to hide his annoyance at her very existence in the manor, even when everyone knew so well how Hermione’s job was standardly given to Muggle-borns because purebloods didn’t bother do such mundane tasks. It hadn't been until the Captain had been injured himself and Hermione had had to take care of him for weeks that he had seemed to react well to her. Since then, they’ve been friends and Blaise started treating her with respect Hermione’s never come to expect from a pureblood.

…

Hermione followed Blaise into the room, expecting to find the couple of soldiers lying somewhere on the chairs scattered around the clinic’s foyer, tired and wounded, but when she got in and found one on each bed in the inner room, both unconscious and obviously bleeding, she just stood for a second staring. She hadn't dealt with anything like that in a really long time. She looked at Blaise and only then noticed the general standing by one of the beds looking at her steadily with slight panic hidden well there. She hadn't seen him in weeks, but General Malfoy looked tired, his blonde hair dark with smudges of red and black and his black robes dusted. He looked like he’s been dragged through hell and back.

“General, are you—”

Hermione began but was cut off by the general’s calm wave, “I'm fine. Can you? Please?” his voice was strained and he gestured at the two beds. That snapped Hermione to the current situation and she tore her eyes off the tired general, walking to the soldier she thought looked worst. She took a breath and focused her mind on everything she's ever learned and for the next three hours spells flew from her mouth and bottles filled with various potions were given to her from both the general and his captain as she tried to save the lives of the two unconscious men in her clinic.

From all days Hermione would regret sending the help she usually had around the clinic home, that day proved the hardest.

…

Hermione fell to the chair the minute she closed the last wound she was working on, her wand fell from her hand and she closed her eyes, realizing she was panting and sweating like she’s just ran a marathon. It was only then that she noticed that someone was handing her a cold glass of water and a towel. She took them and looked up at the general who was standing over her with a weak smile.

“Thank you,” she said as he sat opposite her and looked at her. She drowned half the water in one go. Merlin, she didn’t even know she was thirsty.

“It’s alright. I should be thanking you, you're truly the best, Hermione.”

Hermione smiled. She knew she was the best but it was still nice to hear it, “it's my job, general.”

“Still, you just saved two lives. You're incredible.” The general stated factually, “I'm not sure you're immortal though,” when Hermione stared back with confusion, he added, “drink your water, Hermione and go rest. We need you on your feet.” He rose at that and made an attempt to the door before he turned around to face Hermione one last time, “and please, call me Draco. You're not a soldier and I believe this is the hundredth time I've asked you to.” He added in a voice feigning annoyance with barely hidden humor underneath.

Hermione smiled to the nearly finished glass of water in her hands and closed her eyes.

…

Her rooms felt too silent for her, and Hermione’s claustrophobia was starting to play tricks on her mind, which was utterly ridiculous because she's lived in those rooms for almost three years now and hadn't had a problem with it before.

Eventually, she raised her head and sat on the bed, the coldness of the early days of autumn made her shiver slightly and she pulled her shawl from her desk chair and got up. She had always felt cold in the manor during those particular days every year, when it wasn’t cold enough to start the heating and not hot enough to feel like summer anymore and her mind wondered, as it often did, to her first days here. She was frightened at first, even as she knew her degree would protect her from the fate other Muggle-borns had to live with. Her parents had made it bloody sure that she would never end up as a servant or worse for some pureblood family. But she was still frightened, she had never been to a place solely ruled by purebloods before, nor had she ever been near an actual community formed strictly of wizards and witches. It was exciting to be finally able to use her magic in her profession, heck, it was exciting to be in a place where she could use her magic at all, but she still feared how she had to work for purebloods who essentially hated her very existence. It all worked out well, though. General Malfoy had been kind and professional since the first moment she started working there, and she quickly made friends with the rest of the staff who usually were the only occupants of the Malfoy Manor due to the General’s constant traveling. Even when he was there, the general usually talked to her respectfully and Hermione believed they were on friendly terms, but he didn’t usually stay long enough at the manor for their relationship to become anything more. He usually left everything for his captain, and even Blaise became pleasant to be around with time. Hermione knew she could have gotten it a lot worse had she been employed by someone else, she was thankful and even glad for where she had ended up.

 

Hermione remembered her mother crying twice in her childhood, the first was when Hermione first moved a glass and made it fly in the air with her mind and the second was when Hermione could already read and write by the age of three. She didn’t understand it back then, she hadn't even been told that her great maternal grandmother had been a squib and that her mother had known about the magical world for a long time. Back then, Hermione thought she had angered her mother, but her mother had hugged her and started kissing her all over. Hermione would later know it was because her mother had known right then that she had found a way to save her three year old daughter who was, once she'd become of age, to be given to the magical world, to be trained to use her powers to serve the purebloods in whatever they desired. Hermione had been saved because she was smart. She could memorize entire books by the time she was six and could cast spells her peers still had years to learn by the time she was ten. The purebloods valued that, they wanted Muggle-borns to serve them and the smarter they were the better the place they were going to end up in.

There were days when that wasn’t the case, Hermione had read about them. She's read about times when Muggle-borns weren't so degraded. Times where they had been valued as true wizards and witches capable of handling the same as their pureblood peers. Times when they all lived in harmony for the better of their world. Times when people like Hermione’s parents wouldn’t have had to fear having a magical kid who’d be taken from them at eleven to be never seen again. Back then, those children would go to an ancient school filled with great history and friendly teachers who’d help them learn and explore their gift. Hermione wouldn’t dare dream of such place. She wished she could take her wand with her up to her room, let alone being able to be equal with the purebloods.

Things used to be worse, at least. She's read about those times too. Back then, Muggle-borns were treated even worse than slaves; house elves had more rights than them at some point, and at least they could be freed. It was right after the Dark Lord had took over the Ministry and things were really bad. The purebloods had killed and enslaved whoever survived of the Muggle-borns wizards and witches. They had taken away their possessions and had thrown them to the streets. They had taken magical kids from their Muggle parents to lock them somewhere they could never use their magical powers correctly.

That dark era had lasted short of ten years after the Dark Lord was betrayed by some of his followers and had been killed, it was right about when the Ministry of Magic realized that you couldn’t exactly lock a few hundreds of people away and breed them in poverty and ignorance. Those places had turned into plague pits so quickly where ignorance had bred crime and hate. Furthermore, when it had gotten too much to whip of the memories of Muggle parents to take their children away had started to not exactly succeed every time, the Ministry had had to step in and organize things. The lines between the purebloods and the Muggle-borns weren't corrected with the new laws. No, the purebloods would have never allowed for that to happen, but things had gotten somehow better. New laws had been made to allow Muggle-borns to engage in the magical community, but under strict rules and prohibitions. Muggle-borns were allowed to work using their magic and to learn how to use it correctly, but only if it was in a way to serve the purebloods. Those who couldn’t were reduced to servants. Of course, no muggle-born was ever allowed to use their magic out of their chosen profession. Unjust as it was, Hermione knew it was better than the stories she heard of the horrible circumstances they had to live in before, but sometimes she still wondered.

  
…

The gardens didn’t look as scary from her bedroom window when she finally got to them. They were as cold as the inside of the manor but more open. Hermione breathed the cold night air in letting it sooth her mind, maybe convince her brain to finally shut down and sleep.

The night air was so still though that Hermione wondered if she could hear a pin drop, and that was what she was thinking about when she could see the movement beside her from the corner of her eye. She turned and looked to see someone setting on a stone bench nearest to her. It took her a second to recognize the general without his usual long black robes, but there he was, setting with his shoulder length white hair, looking at her with what looked like amusement.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to notice you weren't alone.”

“I'm sorry, general, I didn’t see you,” she answered and barely stopped herself from staring. She didn’t know he was still in the manor. She thought he had left again after she was finished with the soldiers.

“It’s alright. I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to clear my head,” he answered softly. He looked so relaxed that she almost felt guilty for coming out there and disturbing him.

“Then I'll leave you to it,” she answered, understanding that the general was hinting at wanting to be alone.

“I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Hermione stopped and looked at him and he smiled to her, a small smile that she couldn’t say no to. He moved to make room for her once she made a movement towards him and they sat in silence for a while.

“The soldiers are going to be alright. I checked on them a few minutes ago,” Hermione said after a while.

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and smiled crookedly, “I wouldn’t have assumed otherwise. Although I remember asking you to rest.”

“I had, I just—“

His laugh echoed in the quiet night around them and it silenced her how pleasant it to her ears. She still looked at him to see what was so amusing and he stopped laughing, “I was joking.”

Hermione smiled and looked away, in the direction of the gardens. “I still don’t understand what kind of spell did that to them, though.” She added thoughtfully “It is defiantly something I'm familiar with.”

She could feel him tense beside her and she wondered if she's stepped over the line, but soon enough she heard him chuckle, “a spell Hermione Granger hadn't encountered, I don’t believe that spell exists yet.”

Hermione didn’t miss the clear way he was avoiding her question, but she still said nothing more of the matter. She still knew her place and it wasn’t to question the pureblood general of the Eastern Zone for sure.

“You compliment me too much, general.” She replied instead.

He shrugged, “I'm only saying the truth; you're brilliant. Everyone who's ever met you knows that, but I swear if I hear you calling me that title again, I might start to question your brilliance.”

Hermione smiled, “can I ask you something?” she asked a beat later.

Draco turned to look at her then and stared patiently. Hermione took that for approval. “It's about the celebration in Southern. Why would you want me there?”

She looked at him steadily in the eye as she asked that. She hadn't meant to bring it up. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew she had no right to question the general’s judgment regarding his guests, but she wanted to know why he cared enough about his Muggle-born healer to be there.

“I thought you might enjoy it,” he replied and looked down momentarily, hesitating, “it's a celebration of the one year anniversary of the boarders’ agreement, you have healed so many soldiers who were wounded in that fight. You deserve to celebrate it.”

Hermione was speechless for a second. She's thought about the subject for hours, but had never even entrained the possibility that that would be the general’s reason, “I'm not sure all the guests would quit agree with you, ge— _Draco_ ,” she changed the title quickly when he looked at her with a playful warning in his eyes.

“You're my guest. They don’t have to agree with it.” He said defensively and looked back down, “you're brilliant and you saved tens of their and our soldiers. They should be thanking you.” Hermione could hear the anger in his voice and so she dropped it. She could argue that purebloods didn’t tend to see the Muggle-borns’ services in such light, but she stayed silent. They looked together at the garden for a few minutes before Hermione could feel him relax beside her.

“Thank you for the invite, Draco.”

He turned to look at her but she didn’t look back, instead he turned back to look at the dark garden, looking with her. He whispered: “you're welcome, Hermione.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love the fact that I got to make the first word in this story “Morrissey” haha. In all seriousness, though, I'm really excited for this one and am already three chapters in so it should be fun. hope you like it so far :)


	2. Chapter 2

The clinic felt too silent for her liking. Hermione usually played some soft music there to entertain her and test her abilities to use her magic in the only place she was allowed to use her wand in. Right now, she couldn’t do that because of her two unconscious patients who still haven't woken up yet. It wasn’t like she's never had patients staying in her clinic before, but it's been a while and the silence was stepping on her nerves.

She sighed, since when did she hate the company of her own thoughts so? Her thoughts were usually her only companion and now she couldn’t stand them. Out of nowhere, she was throwing her wand with unnecessary force across the room, giving up on updating an old healing spell she's been working on since morning.

“What has the poor wand ever done to you?”

Hermione spun around to be faced with Draco who was standing right behind her. She placed her hand on her chest and let a breath out. He was smiling mischievously.

“I was just getting frustrated at this spell and—” she started explaining before she closed her eyes and sighed, “it’s so _frustrating_.”

Draco pent down and picked the wand up giving it back to her, “I'm sure it was the wands’ fault.”

It took her a moment, “you're laughing at me.”

Draco let his laughter out in earnest now and nodded, “I fooled the great Hermione Granger. I should be proud!” He was laughing too hard he almost bent in half and Hermione was laughing along with him before she knew it.

“Anyway,” she heard him say as she turned around and started arranging things on her desk. She could hear him move away, however, and when she  turned back, he was standing too close to her that she had to step back.

“As entertaining as it is to fool you, Granger, I'm here for a different matter.” He told her now with some seriousness, but his voice still had the hint of humor in it.

Hermione nodded and turned around, escaping his eyes and feeling pleased the subject was back to work. “The soldiers are fine. They're still unconscious but their vitals are much better. I think they'd be fit to be moved tomorrow afternoon or early the day after. They still need supervision but I'm sure they can get it from a more skilled team in dealing with such injuries,” she replied clinically, picking her chart and going through the data recorded there, more as an excuse not to look at him than to read what she’s already memorized. She was babbling, but she was feeling nervous out of nowhere, which was ridiculous. The general often came down to the clinic when there were patients there, especially soldiers, and requested updates. It's been a while, and she hadn't been with the general alone in the same room too many times in a row in a really long time, but she it shouldn’t be this nerve raking, should it?

“I know,” Draco said and she looked at him with confusion, “I checked with your assistant this morning.”

“Oh,” she didn’t know that. Mary usually came to help whenever Hermione had patients sleeping the night or had her hands full with a lot of patients. It had been Blaise’s idea and Draco welcomed it against Hermione’s protests. She's come to realize it was a good idea, still she wouldn’t admit it.

“Still, this isn't why I'm here,” Draco said again and then there was a look of mischief in his eyes that made him look ten years younger. He looked like a boy and Hermione decided it was her favorite look of him. “I'm here for this,” he added and pulled out what looked like a book out of his robes and extended it to her.

Hermione needed a second but once she absorbed the shock of what she was looking at, she just stared at it, afraid to even touch it.

“Merlin’s beard, this is—”

“The Magical Theory in the Art of Healing,” Draco finished for her with a proud smile and pushed the book into her hands. She grabbed it and just let her fingers lightly trace the elegantly carved title in the wooden cover.

“How— when—” she stuttered before Draco’s chuckle interrupted her and she looked at him instead of the beautiful book in her hands, “where did you find this? It must've cost a fortune!”

He only smiled, “it was missing from the library anyway, and I heard you were looking for it there the other day so I thought I might as well buy it,” he evaded her question expertly but Hermione couldn’t bring herself to get annoyed at that. She was holding a physical copy of The Magical Theory in her hands and she couldn’t freaking believe it. She's read the book back at school and hadn't opened it in years, she needed something from it a few weeks ago and had searched for it in the manor’s library but didn’t find it.

“Draco, this is—” she was looking at the book as she said that and she felt herself chock up, so she looked up at him again and smiled, at loss of words, “thank you, really. Even if it’s just for the library. This must’ve been the first book I’ve read in school once I got accepted and it's so dear to me. I can't tell you how happy I am to be able to read it again.”

Draco was smiling at her, but upon her words his smile grew and he looked at the book again, held the side leaning towards him and traced the part of the spin where her fingers weren't holding it in a death grasp. “I'm glad.” He said then looked at her and for some reason Hermione only then realized how close he was, “I'm happy that it made you happy, ‘mione,”

“It did— _does_ ,” she corrected with a whisper, her smile growing into a grin. “Thank you.”

Draco nodded and moved away only a breath later. He gave her a last look, clutching the book to her chest and smiled before her left.

…

Hermione was singing under her breath.

She was working alone in the garden, looking after the plants she convinced the housekeeper to let her plant there for the clinic. She only started working on them a few months ago and she was fearing the upcoming coldness of the winter would tire them out, so she was trying to build some kind of shed above them to protect them from the surely to come rain and snow. She was doing a good job, she believed, but the only way to test out the structure was to wait for real rain and snow, hopefully it would hold.

The garden was awfully windy anyway and Hermione was dressed well for the cold, but she still shivered as the cold wind found its way under her wool jacket. Maybe it was time to go back inside and finish that list of supplies she left on her desk. She usually had it ready beforehand when Blaise would ask for it to send someone to buy them, but the not so encouraging weather was making them change the date and he now needed them as soon as possible. Hermione promised them by the morning of the next day but it was never wrong to be extra prepared.

And that was what she was thinking about, making her way through the hallways of the Malfoy manor towards her clinic, when a delicious smell from the kitchens stopped her and she couldn’t help but peak her head into it. She was planning on stealing some of whatever was cooking in there and smelling so delicious, maybe also a cup of tea. She knew Dean, their cook, wouldn’t mind, he's always complained how thin she looked anyway.

When Hermione actually got in, all she could see was the empty kitchen. Which was weird, the kitchens were never empty, at least, not since she started living at the manor. Dean was always working and servants were always rushing around, picking this and that, wands out and plates flying everywhere. Even if the staff was nowhere to be seen, house elves usually kept it as busy.

Eventually, after Hermione took one of the pastries cooling on the shelf (that, after all, turned out to be the source of the delicious smell) and had made a cup of hot tea, her curiosity took the better part of her, so she placed her goodies by the door and started snooping around. After a couple of minutes of that, she could hear quiet whispers coming from the end of the hallway that connected the kitchens with the guests’ dining room. Hermione walked quietly and could see a group of the staff huddled there, clearly eavesdropping on whoever was having a conversation in there, which was slightly odd. Since Hermione moved there, she's never seen the general or any of his men having guests there. Any meetings, social or otherwise, were held in the general’s office. She wondered who was so important to open that room to.

“Who are we listening on?” Hermione whispered once she was close enough, and okay, maybe she had meant to freak out the guys straining too hard to listen over the closed door, but the shriek that left Melissa’s mouth upon Hermione’s question was defiantly worth it.

“Sorry,” she whispered, but that still earned her a slap over the shoulder from Melissa, maybe because her grin gave her away, however the only reply she got was a forceful _shush!_ from the guys, so she nodded and came closer.

“Seriously, Mel, what's going on?” Hermione now whispered as quietly as she could after two minutes passed where all she could hear was mumblings from the other side.

“Lady Malfoy is in there,” she finally whispered.

“Lady Malfoy?” Hermione couldn’t help but exclaim. She hadn't heard about Lady Malfoy except in stories from servants who had worked at the manor for years. They said she hadn't put foot in the house since her late husband passed away.

Still, it earned her another slap on the shoulder. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” Melissa whispered back, a little guiltily, “yes, Lady Malfoy. She's been in there since she arrived demanding to see the general.”

“Well, have you heard anything?” she whispered.

“No,” Melissa replied, giving a guilty look to the door, “we can't hear anything, the bloody door was made far too well to allow us to listen.”

Hermione chuckled quietly and strained her hearing to catch anything of the mumbles. After a couple of minutes of nothing, she managed to nudge Melissa with her to the side. Melissa went reluctantly with her at first, then gave in and followed her since even she knew there was no way they were going to hear anything anytime soon. They went to the kitchen and sat by the counter by the window where Hermione usually spent most her breaks with the others, eating and gossiping.

“So you guys sure it's her in there?” Hermione didn’t know why she was still whispering, but the kitchen was too quiet and she felt like it was somehow appropriate. She took a sip of her tea that she’s just reheated.

“Yes, it's her.” Melissa answered with a roll of her eyes, “I saw her when she got in with that scowl on her face like she was smelling something particularly bad.”

Hermione smiled, “you always say that about purebloods.”

“Well, that's because they all do have that look,” she dismissed the subject quickly like she would never change her mind, “I hope we don’t have to look forward to seeing that more often,” she added grumpily, stealing a piece of pastries from Hermione’s plate.

“You don’t think she wants to come back to live here, do you?” was the Lady Malfoy making her visit permanent? Hermione shuddered at having to run into her in hallways by chance.

“I don’t know,” Melissa shock her head and sipped on her tea, she put the cup down and added thoughtfully, “I've heard that she's been pressing the general to get engaged. It's been going on for years, she wants an heir but the general keeps brushing her off, saying he's very busy to start a family. I'll chop my arm off if her visit is not about all those invites he's been declining from her.”

“Why have I never heard of that before?”

Melissa shock her head, sipping on her tea, “it was such common knowledge by the time you’ve come here that I don’t think anyone thought of it as a secret anymore. Now that the Lady’s started dropping visits to the place she swore she’d never visit after her husband’s death, I think it's getting serious. That lady is relentless.” She added that last sentence with a chuckle. “You know, she once tried to set the general up on a blind date with this presumptuous pureblood little dimwit?” she laughed, Hermione shock her head and smiled.

“The whole thing was hilarious. She was this little etiquette bred robot who talked and walked like she had a script for it. I remember the day the lady sent her here and sat them together in the dining room.”

“The guests’ dining room?” Hermione tried to imagine the general actually setting in there with the girl Melissa described and all she could do was giggle like a schoolgirl. She couldn’t imagine Draco sitting through a date like that. It was true that he had always acted like a true gentleman, reflecting his strict noble upbringing, but he always laughed with her and talked casually to her, and she heard him talking way too friendly with Blaise than any general with his captain enough times to know how carefree he was around friends. Plus, he was too intelligent to fall for someone like that, whenever he was home and had free time, she'd usually find him at the library reading or sketching something in a notebook. Still, you never know with people, she reminded herself, some people fall for each other without being suitable for each other at any level. It happens, but she still couldn’t imagine it.

“I can't imagine it,” she giggled.

Melissa was giggling with her, “yes. I told you it was hilarious. We had to bring them snacks and drinks and let me tell you, the look on the General’s face was a lot like a man who pretty much preferred to be facing an unforgivable curse at that moment than set in that room one more second.”

Hermione laughed at that image and Melissa waited a second before she added, “he ended up seeing her for a few months after, though. I wonder what he ever saw in her,”

Hermione stopped laughing abruptly, “He did?”

“Yes,” Melissa nodded, taking Hermione’s shock for humor, “it kept the lady off him for about a year, too. I think she lay off him because he was heartbroken or something. I don’t know. Now I don’t think she'd stop until he actually put a ring on whoever she chose for him. Maybe we’ll get a new lady in the manor, who knows?”

Hermione chuckled at that but let it go. She finished her tea and soon was back in her clinic before the Lady Malfoy had finished her talk with her son.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really loving this fic so far. I can’t wait to show you guys what I’ve rpepaired for it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little bit longer than the previous chapter to come out and for how slightly shorter it is; I'm moving to Sweden this week and everything's been hectic around here. Chapter 4 is almost finished but I'm afraid it's going to take a few more days until I can publish it for the same reason. Still, I hope you like this one; the plot thickens and I'm so excited for what happens next already!

  
_So you think you can tell heaven from hell? Blue skies from pain? Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?  
_

  
  
Hermione twirled around to the sound of the music coming from her radio.

Today, she’s decided to bring it down with her to the clinic. She had successfully enchanted it to play one of her mother’s favorite musical groups, and Pink Floyd’s _Wish You Were_ _Here_ was swiftly coming out of the device, drowning the place with soft melodies, and drowning Hermione’s thoughts. She had her eyes closed and she wasn’t in the clinic anymore, she was back at her parents’ small warm kitchen, showered with the soft sunlight of autumn, her mother making cinnamon buns while mumbling to the words and pinching her three year old cheeks.

If she tried hard enough, Hermione could taste the cinnamon in the air.

That morning hadn’t been unusual in their home. Hermione remembered many similar ones. Her mother had kept making cinnamon buns and singing to Pink Floyd even after they had known what Hermione was, even after Hermione had been kept in their care after they had proved she was smart enough to be of benefit to the Ministry of Magic if she were to finish her education. She had stayed with them until she was sixteen, unlike other Muggle-borns who were taken at the age of eleven. Hermione was later sent to a muggle university which also doubled as a university for wizards. She learnt everything about muggle and wizard medicine and she never saw her parents again.

In Hermione’s second year at the university, she received a letter from the Ministry saying her parents were killed in a car accident.

Eventually the song ended and Hermione stopped and stood still. She kept her eyes closed for a moment, holding into the fleeting image of her smiling parents, but she eventually had to open her eyes when it got too painful to keep them closed. She blinked until the interior of her clinic materialized before her eyes and she sighed, though once her eyes focused, she could tell she wasn’t alone anymore.

Draco was there, just by the door of her clinic. He appeared to have just been passing by, but Hermione’s clinic door was closed, which meant he’s been here for a while. She felt her face blush slightly and she went to her radio, silencing it. She didn’t turn towards him until she composed herself and facial expression enough.

“I've never heard that music before, is it Muggle music?” he was saying now and if his question hadn't been voiced so softly, Hermione would've been positive she was in trouble.

“It was one of my mother’s favorite music groups. She liked music and listened to it all the time when I was a child. From rock music to the classics, something was always playing.” she explained and realized she was twisting her hands together and so she dropped them, going to her desk and picking up some parchments, trying to appear busy and to dismiss the situation as nothing but casual.

The general, however, wasn’t even looking at her anymore. He was by the radio and Hermione couldn’t tell what he was doing to it, she only could see his black clothed back and the muscles of his upper arms flexing as he moved his hands. For a moment, she felt terror rise in her throat at the idea that he might take the device away or even break it right there. Hermione knew it wasn’t illegal to play Muggle music per say, but anything Muggle related was strongly frowned upon in the wizarding world and the general would be well within his rights to punish her for playing the music in his manor, let alone the fact that he must've realized she had the radio enchanted to play the music; using her magic for something other than her profession.

“I remember when you asked for this radio,” he was saying now and Hermione was so fright struck that she didn’t reply, even as the general’s voice lacked any kind of the anger or resentment she expected. It was more reminiscing to be honest. He didn’t say anything else for the longest time after that, but eventually he turned towards her. “Hermione Granger, even radios can't stand long before her magic,” he said and smiled, but before Hermione could relax, his voice turned clinical, “although, it seems I have to interrupt your break I'm afraid.”

“Is someone injured?” the question left her mouth automatically and she was already at her desk, making sure everything was ready, even though she knew it was.

Draco shock his head and came closer to her desk, spreading parchments scattered on her desk randomly with his fingers, “not here, they need you in Southern,”

“When?” she asked, her head already going through her usual checklist whenever she was needed outside the manor. It wasn’t unusual for other Generals to ask to borrow her help whenever they were particularly short on hands, but it hasn’t happened in a long time, since the agreement had been signed in fact.

“Now, actually,” he said and Hermione realized he was standing beside her. She turned to look at him, “we’re going together.”

“What about my stuff?”

“I know you have a checklist of the stuff you bring with you. You can give it to Blaise, and he'll make sure everything is be delivered safely,” the general was explaining gently, but Hermione knew he didn’t have to even answer her questions. He was treating the matter as if it was her choice and she fleetingly wondered what would happen if she actually were to say no.

He was moving away now and he was by the door, “Can you be ready is ten minutes? We can't apperate so I'll be waiting for you by the gates with the car.”

Hermione nodded to him before he left.

…

Hermione had worked in the Southern Zone before. The last time she had been there, however, was a few months before the boarders’ agreement had been signed. She remembered Draco waking her up in the middle of the night because of some attack. She remembered hearing him talking with Blaise about how the attackers were caught at the same moment, but she didn’t know who sent them. Attacks like those have become a common occurrence in Hermione’s life since she had moved into the wizarding world full time. The zones had been in this state of cold war with each other since forever it seems, but she's read before it had happened since the moment the Ministry had decided to divide the wizarding world into zones each controlled and ruled by a single general when it became too much to control a world with too many laws and too many oppressed people. It turned into a semi-marital world way too quickly after that.

It wasn’t so marital at first, the Zones each were given a governor who ruled and organized its affairs and only referred to the Ministry when necessary, but it didn’t last long. The Zones hadn't lived in the peace the Ministry had hoped for. They fought constantly over boarders and where each zone ended and the other began. It wasn’t a full on war, but attacks happened at boarders all the time and so each Zone came to be ruled by a general and had a small force of wizards and witches, dubbed as soldiers, to protect it and its boarders. A year ago, however, an agreement was signed by the four generals of each zones in the Ministry itself to stop the attacks. Since then, the number of the attacks had reduced greatly. There was even a celebration of its one year anniversary. She wondered if those attacks and the ones over Eastern  were a sign of the agreement’s premature failure.

Hermione didn’t particularly look forward to the visit to Southern. She liked her job and liked the fact that she was able to help injured wizards and witches, but General Nott and his soldiers creeped her out. She knew they wouldn’t dare annoy her, let alone harm her, because it would be seen as direct insult to General Malfoy, but she didn’t feel comfortable working there still. Besides, the fact that particular zone still had laws that basically allowed the enslavement of Muggle-borns didn’t particularly help. The Eastern Zone, that Draco ruled, had more progressive laws regarding Muggle-borns. There, Muggle-borns could never be enslaved against their well and all pureblood employers had contracts with the Muggle-borns who worked for them, contracts that had specific clauses to protect the rights of Muggle-borns, like the contract being breached in whole if any physical or mental harm to come to the Muggle-born. Hermione remembered the one she had signed when she first moved into the manor after accepting the job the general had for her. Hermione got to choose her employer because she was the best and she chose Eastern because she had read about the improvements “the young general of the eastern zone” was trying to make over the laws, as the Daily Prophet had put it. Others didn’t have such luxury, but Hermione knew her parents made bloody sure she did.

The night was gradually engulfing the sky around the speeding car. The sky wasn’t so encouraging to begin with when they had departed the manor, and Hermione’s mind flashed briefly to her plants, she sent a silent prayer for the shed she built to stand the wind and rain the dark clouds on the horizon were promising, and glanced briefly at the quiet general sitting beside her, Draco was looking out the window seeming deep in thought, and so she turned to her window and tried to calculate how long they had left. It's been a very long time since she even left the manor, let alone been in a car. She usually went to the nearby town with Melissa when she would go to buy supplies for the kitchens, but they'd usually go by foot with a couple of guards Blaise would always insist on.

By the time she thought they were close enough, the sky started hammering and it was impossible for her to make anything out, still the car wouldn’t go any slower. Thankfully, after almost half an hour of driving in the storm, they finally made a stop. The driver was out in a second, and he opened the General’s door, but Draco wouldn’t make a move to get out.

“General?” Hermione called quietly at first and then when he didn’t respond, “Draco?”

Upon calling his name, Draco finally turned his head towards her, but his expression wasn’t what she's expected. He looked worried and a second later, she realized he was trying to tell her something but was at loss of words.

“What's the matter?” she asked, softly. Hermione wasn’t one for superstition, but she's never seen that look on Draco’s face before and it was starting to scare her.

“I only read the letter Nott had sent and I don’t know the extent of what we’re going to step into right now.” he was silent for a moment and Hermione wondered if he could see something out of his window that she couldn’t, since he had a view of the manor and hers didn’t, “but I need you to stay close to me until we can, and keep your wand ready at all times, will you?”

Hermione had a million questions, primarily about how he was asking her to keep her wand ready when she wasn’t allowed to use it in protecting herself in the first place, but her nod to his questions appeared to be all the general needed, because he nodded back to her and left the car, she followed suit.

In the moments it took Hermione’s eyes to get used to the rain, she could feel herself freeze as the scene before her was revealed bit by bit. They were standing in front of a tent filled with wounded people. People bleeding and screaming in agony on beds scattered everywhere, and others moving between them checking on them. It looked like they were about fifty people injured, Hermione wondered if she could see all of them or if the tent was enchanted to appear smaller from the outside.

“Hermione?”

She didn’t even realize she had stopped until Draco was calling her. She looked at him and saw how worried he looked, looking at her while the downpour soaked his clothes, his hair matted against his head and he could barely open his eyes against it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if she looked the same (Merlin, she couldn’t even _feel_ the rain), but all she could concentrate on was his face now and it made her able to step forward with him. He was guiding her somewhere away from the injured people, but she didn’t care, she needed to gather herself if she was to help. She couldn’t walk in there not having the slightest idea what happened, and it was about bloody time someone explained.

“General Malfoy!”

Someone shouted as they approached the doors of the Nott Manor, Hermione still could recognize it even with the heavy rain, as they approached it and she quickened her step after the general towards who appeared to be Nott’s Captain, Pansy Parkinson.

They finally made it to the entrance and then to a small room with scattered chairs and a sofa opposite a fireplace which was thankfully lit. Hermione just stood aside as Parkinson informed Draco that Nott was waiting for him. She wondered if that meant she had to go back out now, start taking care of the wounded.

“Hermione?”  

She turned and saw it was Draco calling her. He was a little further away having Parkinson already leading him towards the door, but he was facing her now, his eyes searching.

She wanted to tell him she was alright but before she did, Parkinson was speaking: “Sir, your healer will be taken care of, no need to worry yourself about her,” her tone was urgent and dismissive, not that Hermione expected anything else.

“I prefer if we get in together. Your general called for our help and I'm afraid healer Granger wouldn’t be of much help if she doesn’t understand the situation. Hell, _I_ don’t understand it, Parkinson.” He added that last sentence with clear annoyance at the captain.

Parkinson nodded firmly, if the way Draco was speaking was annoying her, she didn’t let it show, “sir, General Nott is waiting for you and I'm afraid the meeting is not the proper place for a mudblood.”

Draco looked even more agitated at that and Hermione knew she had to say something to defuse the situation or he was going to do something he might regret, because if she knew anything about Draco Malfoy it was that he was stubborn, and once he started shouting, it meant the situation was going anywhere good, especially that he was taking orders from someone beneath him; it wasn’t as much about Hermione herself, but about his own wishes.

“General, it's alright.” She said, “If someone could just tell me the size of casualties and the nature of the attack, I can work from there.” She was trying to control her voice, she knew it came out a lot more trembling than she wanted, but it would have to do, and looking at Parkinson now made her feel it had. Parkinson looked like she thought what Hermione's just said was the most unpleasant task to be bestowed upon anyone.

The general was silent for a beat, looking steadily at his healer before he said, “Parkinson, leave us, please.” His sentence was soft spoken, but it was clearly a command and even Parkinson wasn’t stupid enough to argue. She hesitated for a moment however, causing the general to add, “I know where Nott meets his guests. I can find him myself.”

Parkinson’s face twisted like she's just tasted something sore, but she left without another word. Hermione stood there with the general and watched Parkinson leave before she turned to him, “you didn’t have to do that. I'm fine. I could've went where she wanted me to go—”

It was Draco’s hands holding hers and squeezing tightly that shut her up. She looked at him as he brought them up so he could look at them properly, “you're hands are freezing,” he said casually, all previous agitation leaving his voice. He was walking towards some towels on the chair near the fireplace now, having dropped her hands. He picked one up and threw the other to her. 

“You're not the only one needing to warm up, Hermione.” He said that while getting closer to the fire and having started to dry his hair and face with his towel. It took Hermione a moment, but eventually she followed him and started drying herself off as well. She had no idea how cold she was until she was by the fire. Merlin, she was freezing.

“I didn’t know about this,” Hermione heard the general say a few moments later. He wasn’t looking at her, but at the fire, his voice pensive, “Nott’s letter arrived a half hour before we left. He said some of the servants were injured and his healer wasn’t going to be able to cover it by himself. I—” he stopped then rubbed his face with his hands before standing up, “Merlin, I had no idea. It's like a war has broken or some fucking disaster—” he stopped himself and took a deep breath before he turned to her, “I need to know you're going to be alright while I talk to him. I mean it, Hermione. Nott’s soldiers… ” he sighed like he was trying to pick up his words carefully, “They don’t have the same laws as we do in Eastern—”

“I know,” Hermione cut him off and stood up. She put her hand on his upper arm before she could think better of it, “I know,” she said then stayed silent until he was looking at her, “I know about the laws here and I know what the soldiers can do. I'm not stupid. But I also can see what's out there. No matter what the nature or the cause of this attack, I have to help. These people are injured and they need my help. I'll be fine, trust me. They need my help far more than to entertain themselves by hurting me,” She was silent for a moment before she let her hand slide away from his arm.

it took a moment, but eventually Draco was looking at her, and for some reason his look felt too intimate and vulnerable in a way Hermione has never expected from the general of the Eastern Zone before. The general's eyes have always been guarded, and even when he let her into whatever he was thinking, some of that guarding have always been there, always concealing something from her. Now Draco Malfoy's eyes were completely open, like she could look into his very soul and read it like an open book, and the thing that frightened her for a moment was how much she wanted it. She wanted to know the man's deepest fears and worries and not only that, but she wanted to help elevate them. She wanted to comfort him and make him feel better.

Goodness, what was she doing?

 _He’s just worried he’d lose the best healer in the zones._ Something now answered in whisper in the back of her head causing her to step back.  _He’s worried he would have to find a replacement. It’s not about you, Hermione. Don’t be stupid._

 _It can_ never _be about you._

At that, Hermione tried to smile reassuringly to him. She cleared her voice, “can you please go meet General Nott now so we can know what the hell is going on?”

Draco nodded and took a breath, Hermione kept her smile on until the general had already turned and left. Once she was sure she was alone, she closed her eyes and held the ledge of the fireplace in front of her, taking a few deep breaths of her own, trying to mentally prepare herself for when Captain Parkinson was surely going to be through that door to drag her out to the mad scene outside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this has taken forever to come out, guys. I’ve just moved here a couple of days ago and didn’t have any WiFi for a while and it’s been even more hectic than before.

“Keep good pressure on the wound and call me if he loses consciousness.”

Hermione shouted that, over all the noise around, to the teenage witch standing beside her, shaking while her hands and arms were covered with blood that wasn’t hers. Hermione was covered too, and she had lost her jacket at some point as well, because once they had managed to cast a few temperature controlling spells around, the place had pretty much turned into a sauna. She couldn’t remember how long ago they had done that. She remembered it was sometime after they had expanded the tent to accommodate all the helping healers and the new supplies, but she wasn’t sure how long ago that had happened either.

She had lost count of how many people she had to see, as she had lost count of how long she's been moving between them. All Hermione could tell at that point was that the rain had stopped and had started again while she had been moving from patient to patient, and that the only thing keeping her on her feet right that second was how she kept telling herself she just had to go patient by patient nothing more.

Right then, she was casting a spell over a patient with a broken pelvis. The spell was good and usually worked well when cast by an expert healer, but the man she was casting it upon was old and most likely the state of his skeleton wasn’t that great to begin with. She just hoped the spell would at least spare him the pain. When the spell was finished, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to go on much longer.

“Lizzy,” she called at the mediwitch as she casted a final look at the place to make sure the other healers were covering as much as they could, “I'm taking a five minutes break, call me if something happens,” she didn’t wait for an answer and went into one of the tents they had enchanted to act as rooms for the healers and mediwitches.

…

Hermione was tired, she could barely hold her head up, but she was in that state of tiredness where she wanted to fall asleep for ten days, but couldn’t actually get her body to relax enough to reat. She was still shaking but her body was refusing to let go, the adrenaline still pumping through her.

It was the sound of someone getting into the tent that jolted her up. She opened her eyes and was met with General Malfoy making his way in. She tried to smile to him, but she knew it came out like a grimace. He still smiled back, his anxious expression relaxing.

“Hey,” he said, standing awkwardly tall in the small tent, “I was looking for you,” he added, looking tired, but his expression not giving anything away although his wand was clutched in his hand like he was ready for a fight, much similar to Hermione herself if she was being honest. She couldn’t make her hand release the wand even if she wanted to.

“Hey,” she replied back, “I'm just taking a break.”

They were alone in the small tent that was built for the healers to rest in. Hermione had suggested it when one of the mediwitches passed out of exhaustion and had to be transported somewhere she could rest.

Draco got in and sat opposite her. He was quiet for a second, watching her, before he reached in, his expression turning worried, “is that—” he hesitated but his hand was reaching over to her face before Hermione could react. It took her a second to realize he must've noticed the blood.

“It's okay, it's not mine.” She didn’t know if the jolt her heart gave was because Draco had dropped his hand instantly or because she didn’t want him to.

“Are you okay?” he asked instead.

Hermione shook her head, “I think,” she sighed, “I just… it's really bad out there, Draco.” She added with a small voice, “I have never seen anything like it before. I mean, I've treated injured people before by various spells, but I still haven't seen anything like this, and honestly, the more I people I heal, the more I can tell this wasn’t an attack by some spell. It's like—” she chuckled knowing how ridiculous what she was going to say would sound, “it's like someone has gathered all those people and put them in a hole and just blew them up, basically.” She closed her eyes when she still got no response and her heart sank when he didn’t react. It couldn’t be, could it?

“What happened out there?”

Draco was quiet for a few breaths, but eventually he said: “Someone did blow them up. There’s been an explosion and we have no idea who did it or why.”

Hermione was confused, “but… but they’re all Muggle-borns,” she gestured outside, and when Draco didn’t say anything she added: “So they just gathered all the Muggle-borns in Southern and just—”

“Nott had them gathered to prepare for the celebration,” Draco interrupted her. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but had let go of his wand and was rubbing his hand like it was too stiff for him to move properly. “Someone was trying to send a message.”

She tried not to show annoyance at how clinical his voice was, “to whom?”

“To Nott, to us, to the Ministry,” he answered simply and got up, “it doesn’t matter,” he shrugged.

“Yes, it does!” Hermione burst out, standing up as well, “these people were wandless! They were gathered like pigs for slaughter! They had nothing to defend themselves with! How could anyone do that? How could anyone let that happen?”

Hermione had no idea her voice has risen in volume until Draco was standing directly before her, “do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t care?” he asked, his voice hissing in a way Hermione had never heard before.

“Does the Ministry? Does General Nott?” Draco lowered his eyes when she asked that, and she shrugged, “that's what I thought. No one cares. They're just worried they were going to lose their slaves. It doesn’t matter that wandless people have been attacked savagely, what matters is that enough of them survive to continue serving them.”

“Hermione, the broken pelvis man—” Hermione had turned around when she heard her name, Draco moving back from her as if on instinct, and surely enough it was Lizzy, the mediwitch Hermione was working with, coming in and having shut up when she saw them.

“I'm sorry, I'll come back later.” She mumbled instantly, turning to leave hurriedly.

“It's okay, Lizzy.” Hermione was quick to call her back, “The man with the broken pelvis?”

Lizzy nodded and hesitated looking from the general, now standing in a rigid stance before Hermione, to Hermione who nodded encouragingly to her, “well, he said his pain is getting worse and he's not oriented to his surroundings and I thought someone should—”

“Then find someone else!” it was Draco who angrily shouted that and caused the poor girl to jump back, nodding hurriedly.

“Oh… of… of course, ge—general. Sorry.” Lizzy stuttered and moved back, practically running and left.

“I told her to come get me if his condition got worse,” Hermione said now, her voice getting significantly lower when Lizzy’s frightened expression reminded her who she was talking to. She pretended to be looking for some gauze on the table away from the general so she wouldn’t to have to look him in the eye.

“It doesn’t matter now.” He said causing Hermione to straighten up and look at him, questioning. “You need rest and someone else can take over. They’ve told me they have everything under control.”

“I can rest here,” she answered stubbornly and even though a million voice in her head was warning her about challenging the bloody general she worked for, she couldn’t stop herself.

“No, you can't.” Draco argued calmly, “not with Nott’s soldiers scattered in every bloody corner. You're coming back with me to the manor where you'll have a room and a proper bed to sleep. Where's your jacket?”

“I lost it,” she answered automatically, not expecting his question at all. She expected him to get mad, or to at least threaten her, but he didn’t. He just… he just asked her about her jacket. He wanted to protect her from Nott’s soldiers. Hermione didn’t understand and wanted to refuse, but her body was already demanding a rest and as soon as her brain heard the word bed, it was screaming at her to ignore everything and just go.

“I have to check on the patients I've already healed,” she answered instead, her voice lacking the stubbornness of before and she could tell that that was making him listen to her.

“Fine,” he said and ran his hand through his hair, “I'm sending someone to get you back in twenty minutes, be ready.”

Hermione nodded, “I will be,” she answered.

He didn’t answer, he just nodded and gave her a final look before he left her, and Hermione had to physically shake her head to clear it and get it to focus on what she needed to do.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of this story so far? It’s so easy, see, you only have to click the button down there and type!


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